Two Halves of a Broken Heart
by Lucinda the Maid
Summary: Kuranosuke loved Sango. Sango loved Miroku. And, of course, Miroku loved her back. What's a smitten lord to do in a situation like this? Enter one overzealous peasant girl and we’ll find an answer to that... [Koharu x Kuranosuke] IYFG nominee!
1. Rain

Eh my gawd. Lucy _can_ write something other than MS…

As one may have guessed, this is my newest series. I'm uncertain as to whether Koharu and Kuranosuke have even been mentioned in the same fic before, much less had an entire romance devoted to them. Regardless, they are two of the most overlooked minor characters in IY, and so I've given them a chance to shine. Hope you enjoy!

**Note:** For manga only fans; Takeda Kuranosuke is a lord who appeared in an anime filler episode. He'd fallen in love with Sango six years before and attempted to get her to marry him. While she ultimately left the palace without a promise of return, he remained hopeful that she would come back to the castle one day.

* * *

**Disclaimer:**Inu-Yasha belongs to Takahashi Rumiko, et al. This authoress is gaining nothing from writing this fanfiction.

* * *

**Chapter One: Rain**

It had rained the day Sango and her companions left the Takeda castle. The lord Kuranosuke liked to think that the skies were crying tears he daren't show, sobbing for her absence in his stead. Lords didn't cry, after all; it showed weakness of spirit and lack of restraint, two qualities that no ruler, young or not, should have. Yet the taiji-ya's face continued to haunt his dreams, and thus the downpour had yet to cease.

In lieu of bawling, Kuranosuke sighed, wandering through the empty corridors of his house—no; his prison—alone. When asked about love, the thinkers Takeda had often employed told him that life was hollow without it. Love woke one up in the morning, kept one busy beneath his bed sheets at night, filled empty spaces and created new ones, did everything and nothing all at once. From the moment he'd first heard of this thing, this "love", at the age of ten, Kuranosuke knew that he wanted it.

He would be a lord in nine short years.

Lords _always_ got what they wanted.

He wanted love.

He wanted _Sango_.

Of course, he also wanted to put a stop to his perpetual colds, and that desire had yet to be fulfilled as, every winter, Takeda would lapse into convulsion-inducing snivels and be unable to breath through at least one nostril at a time.

Here was a young, handsome, lustful man with enough power to get him anything, and yet everything he pined for was just out of reach.

Said man sighed, thinking—_knowing_—that he was a failure as a ruler but still refusing to show tears.

_How persistent_, a voice in his head chided.

_Persistent people are _stupid.

_Stupid people are _weak.

_Weak people are _failures.

Kuranosuke remembered the day, the rainy, dreary, muddy day, when Sango's shapely rear had disappeared over the horizon for what he thought—_knew_—would be the final time. He couldn't recall what he'd said to her or how she'd replied, only that he had smiled, turned his face up to the heavy grey clouds, let droplets of rain posing as tears of defeat run down his face, and felt his world go numb around him.

That was sufficed to say that he remembered thinking _I'm a failure, aren't I?

* * *

_

It had been a week since the taiji-ya and her company had waltzed out of Kuranosuke's life, and every one of the gloomy, tedious days that followed, he'd stood outside, rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the path ahead of him. He was a human tree, his thick body unmoving, arm-branches and finger-twigs set and rigid. For a few minutes a day, he—it—did not stir, kept staring off into the distance as though looking—just _looking!_—would be enough to call Sango back from wherever she'd gone, pull her into his wooden embrace like a magnet would a piece of steel.

It was on one of these days that a silhouette appeared on the beaten road.

Of course, the forecast was unpleasant wetness all morning and evening, inundating the ground and turning dirt into viscous muck. Kuranosuke could hear the sickening squelch of feet meeting mud before he saw a shadow through the mist, staggering his way. A gasp and three consecutive sneezes later—Kuranosuke decided then and there that standing outside in the rain like an idiot everyday would do no good for his weak immune system—he called over a small fleet of guards to investigate the form. No sooner had they arrived did the cause of the ruckus stumble out from the fog…

…and straight into Kuranosuke, sending the lord down to the ground like a pine felled by an axe.

The Takeda head _also_ came to the conclusion that the only thing worse than a year round cold was mud in one's ears.

He blinked once, twice, thrice, looked up at the surprisingly light from pressing in on him. The lord gazed into eyes as brown as the slop he was laying in, the purple lines underneath them clearly showing their owner's exhaustion. Mahogany hair spilled out from a red cloth and down to below her shoulders—for the person was definitely female—nearly touching a faded apron tied around her waist. Upon closer inspection, her face, exposed skin, and the blue printed outfit she wore were covered in filth and embers, though the layer of grime couldn't obscure the freckles that dotted her cheeks.

Aside from the freckles—which, truth be told, he found absolutely adorable—Kuranosuke concluded that she was a plain girl.

She was a mere peasant, far below him in social class.

But, then and again, wasn't _Sango_ beneath him as well?

"Ugnh…" Hands clenched into minute fists at his chest, and the girl stirred, shivering from who knew what. She blinked once, twice, thrice, looked down at the surprisingly soft form beneath her body. Her vision came into focus, and she took in a handsome face, eyes hidden by dark bangs, a pointed, perfect nose…

She knew that face…

He leaned up to look at her, revealing a long black ponytail thick with mud. Though the girl had yet to see his eyes, the tail gave her the last piece of evidence that she needed.

"I know you."

Kuranosuke arched an eyebrow, confused and surprised at her voice. She sounded just as homely as she looked.

"Oh, Miroku-sama, I knew I'd find you someday… I see you grew your hair out… it looks nice on you…"

The lord's befuddlement was near tangible. _"Miroku-sama"? The monk who was here a few days ago? Does she know him? And… who _is _she exactly?_ He didn't quite have time to think anymore, though, for her thin, dirty arms had since wrapped themselves around his raised head, and she sighed, collapsing against him tiredly. "Miroku-sama… you're here with me… I'm so happy…"

And then her body went limp and she stopped breathing.

Kuranosuke had never been so perplexed in his entire life.

* * *

Lord Takeda prided himself on his innate ability to figure things out quickly. Take the mysterious peasant girl that had appeared on the grounds that morning as an example. After she'd passed out, Kuranosuke relocated her to a futon inside the castle via a few guards. Within a few minutes of her coming to, he'd discovered that the young lady was absolutely obsessed with that monk. 

Of course, she'd called out his name at the top of her lungs and run through a paper door searching for him, so any idiot could have figured that much out.

It would be a little longer before he'd know her name.

* * *

"Koharu," she told him that evening as she knelt before him respectfully, her small, beaten-looking hands clasped together at her lap. Though she bowed her head, Kuranosuke could see embarrassment and disappointment pooled in her eyes, making them shine with a peculiar light. "Sorry I mistook you for someone else before…" 

With some effort, Kuranosuke lifted one corner of his mouth upward. While optimistic to a fault, the seigneur didn't smile often. Around people he couldn't care less about, he didn't do so at all, but when near someone or something important to him (namely Sango), he grinned and beamed and laughed and hooted so much, it became overwhelming. So, instead, he paired his attempt at a smile with a wave of his hand, saying, "It's fine, it's fine." An uncomfortable silence grew from there. Kuranosuke did the only thing that he could think of to stave off the disconcerting hush; throw his head back and laugh as loudly and as boisterously as he could.

Had he been looking at Koharu, he would have seen her visibly shiver at the sound.

Wiping away an invisible tear, Kuranosuke's chuckles faded, and he continued. "At any rate, Koharu, what brings you to the Takeda clan's residence?"

The girl didn't speak for a beat, during which she swallowed a lump the size of her fist. Then: "I'd been sleeping peacefully last night in my home, until I was awoken by screaming and the smell of smoke. From what I could see, a group of vandals had entered my village. Some of them rode on horseback, and a few others were gathering up the village girls in a corner. They lit the houses on fire, and I was so afraid, I did the only thing that I could do…"

"…and that was to run away," Kuranosuke finished, his face stony and unrevealing.

"Yes, that's correct. And then… I ended up here."

The lord nodded. "I see." Though he already knew the answer, he then prompted, "And who was the 'Miroku-sama' of which you spoke?"

Peering closely at the young woman's face, Kuranosuke saw her features soften and a smile curve her lips pleasantly upwards. "Miroku-sama…" she whispered, appearing as though she'd been put in a trance by the name. She reverted back to her normal tone of voice immediately after, however, and stated, "He was a monk that gave me food when I was younger. He really helped me in my time of need—more than once, actually—and so I thought that he'd come to save me again."

Now Kuranosuke was grinning. "Interesting…" He gave the young woman a second to revel in her own thoughts before saying, "Oh, Koharu!" Her head instantly snapped upward, eyes wide like a child's, one trembling hand clutched at her chest like an external heart. The corner of the lord's eyes crinkled as he said, "Would you mind if I borrowed your headscarf for a moment?"

"My… my _scarf_?" Now her voice was shaking too.

"Yes, please. I'll be just a second."

Wordlessly, Koharu rose, padding toward him on covered feet and releasing her hair from the bright fabric as she did so. When she was within touching distance, Kuranosuke reached out his hand to accept it, taking note of the beads of sweat pooling on her forehead. Smirking again, he waved the scarf with a flourish and, bringing it close to his face, sniffed it.

He didn't have to look at Koharu to know that her jaw had unhinged itself and was hanging someplace near her Adam's apple.

Withdrawing the headscarf from his nose, Kuranosuke glanced up at her—really, was it even _possible_ for someone's mouth to be open that wide?—and, with a smile, said, "As I thought. It does not smell of smoke."

Her mouth snapped closed with a resounding _click_. "H… huh?"

Setting the material to the side, Kuranosuke declared, "Had you been in a burning village the night before, the scent of smoke would have most definitely stuck to your clothing. From what I can see—or, rather, smell—your headscarf's scent is normal; no traces of flaming buildings linger on it whatsoever.

"Also, are you aware that the village closest to the Takeda palace is one hundred thousand paces away? It takes a grown man a day to walk that far; why should I think that a simple village girl could be able to travel that distance in even less?"

"I… I don't know…"

"Koharu, tell me." There was now no trace of the humor that had lined his voice before; Kuranosuke was most definitely serious about whatever he wanted to discuss. "What _really_ happened last night?"

"I… I told you that…"

"And you _lied_ to me."

"I didn't mean to…"

"Koharu, I only want to know…"

"_I'm sorry_!"

Kuranosuke could only watch as Koharu's knees crumpled and she plummeted toward the ground for the second time that day. This time, though, there was no broad-chested male beneath her to break her fall. Kuranosuke mentally slapped himself as he looked upon the pitiful human earthquake before him. If there was any one thing he considered a sin, it was the upsetting of a woman. After that day six years ago when he'd first laid eyes on the awe-inspiring Sango, he'd become something of a feminist, unwilling to shatter women's spirits only to prove the dominance of his gender.

But now, looking at Koharu, a pile of glass shards on the floor, he felt that he just had done the thing he loathed so.

"Koharu."

She raised her head, breathing noisily.

Her eyes glistened, both with tears and fear.

And for just a moment, Kuranosuke realized that, one week ago, when _that monk_ had risked losing an arm for the taiji-ya, Sango's eyes had shone in precisely the same way.

And, as he looked at the abject village girl before him, he couldn't help but think, _how dare I hurt Sango like this._

"Tell me the truth, if you please."

Nodding, Koharu spoke, and Kuranosuke could have sworn that he heard Sango's voice along with hers. "Miroku-sama and I crossed paths for a second time about two months ago. As I was homeless, he found me a village to make my new life in. He battled a youkai as I lay unconscious in order to save me, and… and when I awoke… all that remained of him… was this."

Reaching into a fold in her clothing, Koharu produced a single scrap of paper. If Kuranosuke squinted, he could see that, on the side of the sheet that faced away from him, someone had messily written a kanji.

"An ofuda?"

She nodded, holding the paper in hands that had clearly never touched a boomerang, but that Kuranosuke liked to think had anyway. "I tried… I tried so hard to forget him. But I'd lived in the village he'd left me in, carried the ofuda he bestowed upon me… I held so many memories of him in everything that I did… it… it became impossible…"

"And so you ran away," Kuranosuke finished for her.

"Mhm. I thought maybe… if I… went elsewhere… starting over wouldn't be as painful. I've been traveling for a while, and I've barely slept at all. But there are so few villages around here that I was starting to give up hope of ever making my own life. And then I thought that I'd found him again today, and I decided then that I… I didn't _want_ to forget…

"It's even more hopeless now…

"I'm just…"

"…a failure."

Kuranosuke also had an inborn skill for accurately ending people's sentences.

For the first time since she'd awoken, Koharu remained perfectly still.

"Koharu, stop and consider for a second," Kuranosuke went on, "What your monk would have thought of you if he knew that you'd run away. He'd worked hard to find you a place to stay in; is it right of you to abandon that? What do you think he would say if he knew that you were without a home?"

"I… I don't know… but… where am I to go now?"

Without stopping to consider the ramifications of his next words, Kuranosuke said, "You needn't go anywhere."

Their eyes locked for the umpteenth time that day, though this was the first occurrence where both parties looked—really _looked_—at one another. Koharu couldn't help but notice that, while similarly amiable, Kuranosuke's orbs shone much differently from Miroku's. Kuranosuke himself saw rugged feminity pooled in Koharu's eyes, a toughness he'd come to associate with his "one true love".

While the real Sango's eyes were presently looking fondly upon a houshi miles away, the similar pair before him would do as a nice substitute for them.

"Feel free to choose any unoccupied room on the grounds as your own; you may live here for as long as you like."

Her smile sent shocks of warmth spreading through his body.

Had he ever seen Sango smile?

Regardless, the grin Koharu wore like a favorite accessory could be _mistaken_ for Sango's.

He could pretend.

And so he did.

Koharu saw an opportunity to start her life afresh.

And so she took it.

And thus, she remained.

And, though Kuranosuke didn't know it then, the grey clouds that had made a comfortable residence for themselves over the Takeda house began to, at long last, disperse…

* * *

**End chapter.**

It was necessary for me to select a reasonable age for Kuranosuke, as the anime never explicitly stated what it was. Judging by appearance alone, I assumed him to be nineteen.

Having only seen the dubbed episodes in which Koharu and Kuranosuke appeared, I also had to guess what Koharu called Miroku in the original Japanese. I thought the answer to clearly be "Miroku-sama," but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

With that said, reviews, especially constructive ones, would be lovely. I'm constantly editing my fanfictions, so any nitpicks you can find would make my job a lot easier. Please drop a comment. ;-) 'Till chapter two!


	2. Snow

Yay, second chapter! ((is proud of herself)) Review responses for chapter one can be found in my livejournal on the entry labeled 11/13/05. It you go to my FFN profile, the link to it can be found labeled as my "homepage." Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, and spread the Koharu/Kuranosuke love thus far. You've no idea how much it means to me. ((smiles))

* * *

**Chapter Two: Snow**

As the days wore on, Kuranosuke drew closer to the conclusion that Koharu would make a horrible noblewoman.

When she'd finally recovered from the shock she'd experienced when Kuranosuke told her that she could live on his grounds, the girl had let out a shriek so shrill, a dog miles away would convulse upon hearing it, and frolicked out of the room, giggling.

She'd _giggled_ for goodness' sake.

And, when she'd picked a room, she'd selected the one closest to the front gates, barely fifty paces away from the cruel, cold, unpredictable outside.

Had she been born the daughter of a daimyo, she would have known that the edges of one's property were the most open to attack; an intelligent lady would have certainly opted for a room in the center of the castle, close to Lord Takeda's room.

Of course, the mere thought of a woman—never mind a _giggling_ one—residing in the room next to his seemed more than a little awkward.

He turned her odd choice over in his head, attempting to look at her reasons for selecting it and failing miserably, for failing miserably was something that Kuranosuke just _did_.

_But what if_, he asked himself, pointedly ignoring the voice that hissed "failure" in his ear, _she decided to stay close to the front of the building because… should she want to leave… she could slip out unnoticed?_

He grunted aloud at his own foolishness. _I doubt it. I've given her a home, haven't I? I've offered her the perfect opportunity to start her life over, and she's elected to live it out. Why would she want to leave here, leave _me

It was a good thing Kuranosuke was snubbing "the voice," for it was screaming, _she'll leave if you fail again!_

He hadn't need to have heard it to know that he was determined to do everything in his power to keep her from leaving.

* * *

Despite his love for Sango and muliebrity as a whole, Kuranosuke didn't know a thing about a woman's interests. Jumping to the conclusion that all girls loved clothing—much to the chagrin of the feminist portion in his brain—the clan head sent a dozen servants carrying armfuls of clothing to Koharu's room, making sure that all pieces were both varied and beautiful. Koharu would certainly need a change of clothes—her apron was positively filthy!—and, being a girl, she was sure to appreciate the numerous outfits he'd provided for her. 

While wandering the grounds the morning his maids had dropped off the clothes, he passed her room by a handful of times. The sun was positioned in such a way that her profile was invisible to him, but a slight breeze blew the sound of her laughter in his direction.

He couldn't help but smile.

And smile.

And smile.

And hold a hand to his mouth to hold back the thunderous guffaw that was threatening to slip out.

And wonder if Sango was fond of fashion, too.

* * *

The next day, Kuranosuke had been making his way toward a lookout tower near the entrance of the palace when Koharu had hollered for him. "Takeda-sama! Come see what I'm wearing!" 

Kuranosuke chuckled at the honorific and, turning toward the area from which he thought her voice had come, said, "Please, Koharu, call me Kurano…"

His breath stuck as he gazed upon the peasant girl.

Her hair had been loosed from its scarf and tumbled down her back, each strand straight and shiny, obviously brushed. She'd chosen to wear another mo-bakama, this one more pristine that her other one.

But more than anything else, Kuranosuke noted the pink kosode that covered her form, a loose-fitting shirt randomly dotted with patches of coral…

Kuranosuke thought that it was all terribly ironic.

"You look wonderful, Koharu," he said once his brain caught up with his eyes. _She is not Sango… she is not Sango… she is not…_

"May I suggest a green apron to complement the pink, though?"

Ironies were only enjoyable if they were of one's own making.

* * *

Koharu loved the idea of having a life's mission. Growing up in such a desolate, stifling place as an oil master's house, she'd decided that her existence must have had more of a point than her being tough enough to brave working thirteen hours a day. She'd been alone for fourteen years, making friends only with her shadow, and even it disappeared once the sun dipped below the horizon at the end of the day. Certainly being alone wasn't why people were born. There _must_ be something _more_, something _missing_, something… 

…_Miroku_…

That day from three years ago slipped into her thoughts yet again, and, giving into the memory, she fell into herself to recollect.

Koharu knew that she hadn't been the only girl taking a lunch break the day _he_ had appeared. There had most definitely been more nubile young ladies wandering around her village that would have been willing to share her straw mat with a handsome young monk. So then why had he sought out _her_? Why did he feed her, as other pretty ladies' stomachs grumbled with hunger? Why _Koharu_?

The answer to all three had been clear at the time: fate had sent him her way. While the first eleven years of her life had been replete with loneliness and misery, he was the one with the crying-on shoulder; he was comfort and security, and he was her solitary hope and dream.

Though he would never, ever know it, and she wouldn't, couldn't tell him, she thought him to be her life's mission.

Even after he left her side, she felt a pleasant trembling inside of her that told her she _would_ see him again.

She would never forget the day, a single evening after his departure, that she'd arisen early, slipped out of her "home," and watched the sun rise. Her shadow had formed behind her, awake and ready to say hello.

She remembered that it had been tinted purple with the early morning rays, and a distant jingling noise had filled her ears.

Her life's mission would be with her always, bound to her feet so long as she faced the sun and kept believing in tomorrow and true love.

In Kuranosuke's home, the paper door that formed a barricade between herself and the gardens allowed only a little light to filter into her room. Every morning she would rub her eyes, stretch and yawn, and get to her feet slowly, her movements lethargic and lengthy. Then she'd spin on her heel to say good morning to her shadow but be met with only the sight of her disheveled bedding and an unforgiving wooden floor.

While surrounded by hundreds of guards, scores of servants, and a single seigneur with a weird laugh, Koharu's loneliness was becoming more and more suffocating, as if life had put her lungs into an unrelenting stranglehold.

* * *

"Spring is my favorite season." 

"Humph… is that so?"

Koharu picked a flower from a nearby bush and turned the stem around in her fingers. Beside her, a retainer by the name of Aki, a girl big in breast but small in patience, stood hunched over, pouring water over a few bunches of flowers. It was Aki's sole duty to keep Kuranosuke's gardens growing, green, and full of life all year round. Truth be told, she wished they would all shrivel up and die so she could be released from her work and go off on her own; her actually working in the Takeda household was the result of a stupid promise made by her father, and…

"What's _your_ favorite season, Aki-chan?"

Aki wished that _Koharu_ would shrivel up and die, too.

Still, few girls on the grounds made an effort to open up to her, like the flowers that Aki tended for in the summertime, so the opportunity to socialize probably wasn't so much of a curse as she made it out to be. At any rate, her answer was immediate. "I like the winter."

"Oh?" Koharu looked up from the yellow-tinged petals of the blossom she held. Despite the fact that it was supposed to be immaculately white like the others in its bush, Koharu knew that the world had its way of making everything imperfect. "Why is that?"

Aki's brain had little time to produce a sane answer. "Because in the winter, everything dies."

She needn't have looked up to feel Koharu's eyes boring holes into her skull. Recovering quickly, the gardener said, "Um… I mean… snow. Yeah. I like snow."

Koharu shook her head. "Okay. I don't like snow so much, though."

"Why not?" Aki asked, half-interested.

Koharu gave no response; how was she supposed to put into words why white was her least favorite color? Ever since that horrible demon with the mirror had attacked her a few weeks ago, seeing anything that pallid frightened her. She thought it funny—ironic, even—that the seemingly deficient bloom she held wasn't really so imperfect. Instead, she stated, "Would you like to know why I like spring, Aki-chan?"

Aki yawned and scratched her chest idly. Koharu took this as a response in the affirmative. Glancing at the flower, the peasant girl said, "The reason I like spring so much, Aki-chan… is because it's a renewal. Spring cleans everything up and makes things better. Spring is nature's way of telling the world that it's alright and we should all start again." Koharu smiled, folding her arms across the lap of her new kimono, a black one with pink trim that Kuranosuke had left in her room that morning. "I wish it was spring all the time, Aki-chan."

Aki nodded in mock agreement, lacking the heart to tell her that spring would go on unappreciated without the winter. "Humph. I still like snow."

"But _why_, Aki-chan? Snow is cold, and… and… and _suffocating_. How is something like that enjoyable?"

The gardener wrung her hands on her mo-bakama in an attempt to keep herself from snapping Koharu's neck in two. Koharu couldn't understand that Aki's life was one huge mountain of ice; it trapped her on the castle groups, kept her from scurrying away from Kuranosuke's residency to be free and content and _normal_. Like the tight laces of Koharu's kimono, which made their wearer choke and cough from lack of air, Aki's life kept her in an unabated grip, a _stranglehold_.

Aki was slowly suffocating and too deaf to hear Koharu sneeze because, all along, she had been allergic to flowers.

Aki's hands relaxed, her clothing falling into place over her curves. "Perhaps… perhaps I'm just a masochist."

Koharu nodded, wishing that life would take its hands off Aki's pretty pretty neck and go torture someone else. _In the end, Aki-chan…_

…_aren't we all?

* * *

_

Koharu woke the next morning, alone as usual, with no shadow dancing behind her to offer a ghostly company. After blinking the final traces of sleep from her eyes, she dressed herself—in the pink and green outfit, worn on leisurely, slow-moving days—and slid open the paper door…

…to find Kuranosuke standing before her.

Despite the fact that her clothing was loose and comfortable, her voice was strangled all the same. "Ah! Ku… Takeda-sama! What a…"

"Really Koharu," the lord interrupted. "Call me _Kuranosuke_."

The not-taiji-ya didn't speak for a while and coughed into her hand instead. Quickly recalling that, if she didn't say something soon, Kuranosuke would start laughing, Koharu stammered, "Um… I would actually…" Pause. Cough. "I'd prefer it if you'd let me call you Takeda-sama."

The seigneur nodded, and the reticent response told her that she'd earned permission. What he would never tell her was that Sango was reluctant to call him by his first name as well.

"What is it that you want, Takeda-sama?"

He started, seeming to forget why he'd gone to her in the first place. "Yes," he stated with a smile. "I wanted to know if you are happy here."

"…happy?"

"Yes; _happy_."

Koharu felt stupid for forgetting the definition of the word.

"I… suppose so."

"Good. And while we're on the subject, is there anything I can do to make your stay here better?"  
_Of course there is_, Koharu thought. _You can bring Miroku-sama to me. You can get rid of that creepy laugh of yours. You can stop showering me with gifts and make this place more a home than a residence._

_…but…_

_But you can also make me forget and make me realize that this place is more like a home than any other I can think._

"No… but Takeda-sama!" He, who had already begun to leave, turned only his head around to face her.

"…please show me your hands."

Koharu couldn't claim that she knew her host well. But she had certainly predicted the onslaught of laughter her inquiry had brought about. "My _hands_?" He chuckled, his chin jutting toward her in a point of evident amusement. "Koharu, my _hands_?"

"Mhm." Next to the shaking, broad-shouldered mountain of a man—who, now that she thought about it, was a lot taller than she remembered Miroku being—Koharu couldn't help but feel as tiny as her latest statement had been. She was intimidated by him, to say the least, much more afraid of him than she'd ever been of Miroku. Better not interrupt the eruption, then…

"Alright."

"Hm?" This was Koharu's non-answer, and she blinked up at him, at a figure that all but cast a shadow upon her.

"Alright; you may see my hands. Either or?"

"Just the right one, if you please. Palm up."

He nodded and complied, turning said hand to face her, almost as an inadvertent sign of peace. Koharu's eyes drank in the undisturbed, uncalloused palm, the various deep lines spiderwebbing their way across it, the joints of the fingers and the strangely awkward knuckles…

She nodded.

She saw no scar.

She saw no hole.

She saw no cuff.

And the air hung stagnant about her.

_He is not Miroku-sama… he is not Miroku-sama… he is not…_

"G… g… good-bye, Takeda-sama!"

* * *

And she pulled the door shut on both Kuranosuke and the first fourteen years of her life. 

Aki watered the flowers that afternoon, bored even more so than usual. As much as she was loath to admit it, Koharu was a distraction from her monotonous, dull work, and her absence made the tedium that was Aki's life all the more evident.

She sighed, watching water cascade out from the container she held, wishing for the sun to peak out from the dense covering of clouds so a rainbow could form.

But there would be no rainbows for quite some time.

When Aki withdrew from the bush, having sufficiently watered it, she pulled her head back to look at the grey sky…

…right on time, in fact, to feel a cold something press in on her forehead.

She needn't have looked to know that it was white.

The gardener set down her can, wiped the remnants of the snowflake off of her face, and cast a furtive glance at Koharu's room nearby. She wouldn't be happy when she heard.

"Winter is coming on fast…"

* * *

**End chapter.**

While rewatching a few episodes in the series, I noticed that Koharu and Sango's outfits are very similar. Both wear a kosode, the long, loose-fitting shirt, and a mo-bakama, or an apron. If I've made a mistake identifying either article of clothing, please tell me.

According to an online translator, "Aki" translates into "wearisomeness" or "tiresomeness." And, according to my lovely readers, it can also translate into autumn. Thanks, guys! ;-D

With all of that said and done, please review! I'm sure you have something to say, so do tell me whether you like this or not. Thank you, and until chapter three! ((waves))


	3. Fog

Ha! Released before February! I did it! ((triumphant))

I like to keep a record of my review responses; because FFN doesn't allow us to carbon copy them, I'll continue to post them in my livejournal. They're now up in the entry labeled 01/21/06.

I'm rather proud of this chapter. Keep an eye out for the reoccurring symbols, alright? They'll tell you, hopefully, where I'm going with this… Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Three: Fog**

Koharu liked to dream. Being a village girl turned slave turned palace guest, she didn't possess any unique skills or defining characteristics (aside for her great ability to adapt, of course).

But dreaming and remembering dreams? She was good at those.

Her favorite dreams were the ones that involved Miroku. He was her life's mission, so that fact was pretty much a given. Some reveries involved him looking at her and smiling. In others, he reached out to her—because in the past three years, Koharu had done far too much reaching on her part—and held her hand, his beads making marks on her skin. A small percentage of these featured him leaning in toward her to snatch away her first kiss, and in even fewer, he slipped his hands into her shirt just as she slipped into a state of euphoria.

There were other, not so pleasant dreams as well, but Koharu managed to defy her talents for remembrance and forget those.

But as expected, there were some she _couldn't_ forget, those incubuses that were so vividly real and frightening, she needed to shock herself conscious and lie on her futon to breathe, shake, and remember.

In one such dream, one that entered her tired mind the day after Kuranosuke had inquired about her happiness, Miroku stole into her room and kissed her senseless. She did not question how he'd done so, how he'd been so quiet as to keep the palace guards unwary. Instead, just as senselessly, she kissed him back.

But then he pulled away.

And she realized then that his eyes were mud brown, his shoulders much too broad, his hands unbeaded, unscarred, un-_Miroku_…

She awoke the next afternoon long after everyone else on the grounds and shoved a finger down her throat, desperate to purge herself of the taste of Kuranosuke and the horrible memory that was her nightmare.

Just outside her room, a snowflake fell on Aki's head.

* * *

Kuranosuke dreamed, too, as humans were wont to do. However, instead of referring to them as dreams, he only called them "nightly images." He was a lord, after all, and because of his political stature, could get whatever he wanted with a flick of his hand. There was no need for dreaming because there wasn't anything he could lust after that wouldn't eventually fall into his lap.

The only thing that eluded him was indubitably Sango, but he likened her to the boomerang she wielded with her characteristic grace; no matter how much she resisted his loving hold, she would turn around and come back to him soon enough. Without fail. Every time.

And besides, he had Koharu, her substitute, scurrying about his abode, so he found it in himself to wait.

Kuranosuke sighed at the thought of Koharu, wishing to go back to sleep and dream about what wasn't but what would be. Though only nineteen years of age, he regularly claimed that his memory was beginning to fail, mostly to arouse pity and extra work out of his employees. When it came to Sango, he preferred to shed his lie and think his ability to recollect impeccable.

But it wasn't. As time wore on, he began to forget. What was the shape of her face? How did she hold herself? Did her eyes shine, or were they dull? It was when he had questions like these did he call upon Koharu. While he'd been blessed with Sango's company only twice in his life, he saw Koharu once a week at least, running around like an insect, so rare inside the walls of his dwelling. By looking at her, he could _assume_ that whatever physical traits she possessed, Sango did as well. It was just a matter of mental editing; cut Sango's hair a few inches, shorten her height, dot her cheeks with freckles, and there: there was Koharu.

And there: there was memory.

Yet Kuranosuke couldn't bring himself to make his beloved transition completely into the wailing child of a woman that lived with him. If there was one thing he remembered about Sango, it was the way her voice sounded. It fit her personality so perfectly in every facet, whether in regards to its pitch or its volume or its tone. He refused to believe that the harsh, high shriek of Koharu could ever replace the deep, honey-smooth sound of Sango, though it had been weeks since he'd heard her voice.

But he dreamt of it. Without fail. Everyday.

And so he found it in himself to wait.

* * *

"Are you alright? You've been looking pale as of late."

One morning about two months after her arrival at the Takeda house, Kuranosuke paid a visit to Koharu again. He did so immediately following her morning meal, appearing seconds after her final bite. Being so perceptive and keen to detail, Kuranosuke noticed the pallor that she wore on her face like a mask, though he could not fathom why it was there.

Koharu coughed, biting back the bitter words she knew she couldn't say. _I've been dreaming of you, disguised as Miroku. And I hate it. It makes me sick._

"I think it's the food," she responded, gesturing toward the empty platter before her. "I might not be able to stomach something that's in it."

"Shall I ask the cooks to prepare something different for you?"

"No, you needn't go to all the trouble." Actually, what she meant to say was that he needn't be so kind. His offer to give her food reminded her of Miroku, who had handed her something to eat when she was starving, too. She hated that he was becoming more and more similar to the man she loved; it absolutely made her nauseous.

"But I'm concerned for you."

_Not you're not._

"I'm fine; really. It's only been happening recently, Takeda-sama. I'm sure it will go away soon enough."

Koharu knew full well that it wouldn't because, no matter how much she resisted, she couldn't stop seeing the similarities. And Kuranosuke, so attentive to the things that he wanted to be real, knew this full well, because he could never ignore it when he sensed that something was being hidden from him.

In regards to Koharu, there was always a little that remained perpetually out of reach.

She only refused to acknowledge the fact that Kuranosuke was exactly the same way.

"Koharu." Her name was a command that rolled of a tongue more like a whip, and she nodded to show that she was ready to receive. "Koharu, I do not like being lied to. You know this all too well." Kuranosuke's words were a falsity. However, the lord was much more willing to lie than to face the truth. In the meantime, Koharu winced, unaware of his deceit, instead thinking back to her first encounter with him. He continued. "Now, I ask only this; tell me… what is wrong?"

She was quiet, but exclusively on the outside. Internally, she chanted the mantra she'd adopted since she'd seen Kuranosuke's bare hand. _He is not Miroku-sama… he is not Miroku-sama…_

The prince cleared his throat, making the decision to reform his words. "Koharu…

"…are you happy?"

It was the second time he'd asked her this, and this time around, the circumstances both parties were under were completely different. Before, he'd asked her with a smile; now, seriousness dominated his features like grey clouds dominated the sky. Before, he'd visited to calm his nerves and convince himself that she would stay; now, he really, truly, wanted to know.

Much like on the day of his first confrontation with her, Kuranosuke watched as the girl shook visibly. She held a Sango-colored sleeve up to her face, masking her eyes and intentions. Still, her mouth remained in sight, and he could see her lips curve upward in the saddest smile he would ever see.

"Takeda-sama… I do not know what happy is."

There: the words had been verbalized. And, now that she had thrust them out there, they didn't seem so terrible. Such was the case with everything when it came to Koharu; no matter what happened, her first impressions were always, _always_ wrong.

She laughed inwardly and called herself a failure at prevision.

What surprised her most was that she heard no laugh from Kuranosuke. He was just as silent as she had been moments before and, when she peered at him from above her sleeve, equally as serious. His eyes were closed, his head bowed, and in that second, he looked less like Miroku than ever.

They sat there like that for a long time. The deep but companionable silence was broken only once, this time by Kuranosuke.

"Neither do I."

* * *

That evening, Koharu did not dream, and hours later, she awoke to find that the morning frost had already melted, leaving the flowers outside as beautiful as ever.

Kuranosuke did not sleep, but was certain that, if he had, he would have dreamt of Sango.

He simply chose to avoid the fact that Koharu served as Sango's replacement, so, in effect, he would have dreamt of her as well.

So desperate was Kuranosuke to run away from the truth of his self-made ironies, he failed to realize the next morning as he strode about the grounds that it was tethered to his legs in the form of a shadow.

Failing was what Kuranosuke did.

And gradually, he was failing in his efforts to blur the line between Sango and Koharu.

* * *

**End chapter.**

As always, reviews, constructive comments, and the like are very much appreciated. A thanks goes out to my readers for sticking with me this long. You're wonderful. :)


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